A Fated Draw of Numbers
by Rejar
Summary: Uncursed Reborn meets Mafia-raised Tsuna. Thirteen years separate them but it doesn't hinder their budding teacher-student relationship. When the curse hits him, however, those years seem like nothing compared to a chance wasted and the spiral downwards begins. Fem!Tsuna. R27. Starts Pre!Curse.
1. A Most Fortuitous Meeting

**I don't own** ** ** ** _Katekyō Hitman Reborn!_ **********in any way or form. Credit goes to _Akira Amano_ for creating the series and making writing this possible.****

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 **A Most Fortuitous Meeting**

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She looks lovely. And much too young.

Reborn spots the brunette with the wild mane from the corner of his eye; a chanced catch over the rim of his glass of wine. The ballroom is a crowded place full of ravishingly dressed bodies and beatific faces, drowning in wine and exquisite food, the only sounds the evasive chatter of a thousand voices and those of a faint melody plucked on harp. Perfume permeates the air and is inescapable as he makes his languid rounds.

In this brilliant sea of colors it is sheer luck he stumbles upon her out of all people: a freckle of white unfazed by its colorful peers. The white dress is adorned only by a playful belt made up of tiny orange flowers, and he finds the simplicity endearing. It's a sight for sore eyes to have a blank canvas before you every once in a while.

Only when his eyes wander higher does he notice the obvious lack of curves, further emphasized by the light, airy nature of the dress. When he stops at the unknown woman's face he is twice surprised.

 _Much_ too young to set foot in this kind of society, he decides.

And also a face he cannot place a name to.

Thus his interest is piqued.

A good hitman knows his prey before he decides to strike. Crucial timing is important, not only to one's own survival but the success of the whole mission. Reborn considers himself the best hitman the Mafia has ever seen. Coincidentally he's also bored by tonight's immutable etiquette—shallow conversation for the sake of politeness doesn't sit well with him.

He decides to make a game out of it, the way he occasionally does on his missions. If he doesn't recognize the girl's face then there can be only one conclusion for it.

She must be a spy.

And the game of wits starts.

Reborn returns to mingling with the crowd, his trademark fedora pulled lower as to hide his watchful eyes. To this ballroom he is just one of many; a perfect suit and tie, the gait of a gentleman, a smile conjured into a conversation just when it is needed. But beneath the shadow of his hat he sees the world in all its clarity as the playground it has turned into and to which he adapts like a chameleon.

He keeps the brunette in his field of vision as he picks up pieces of conversation and blends with one group or the other. Inconspiciously he draws attention to her, steers topics where he wants them to be. Surely someone must know a thing or two about the nameless girl but to his surprise—as well as rising suspicion—nobody does.

She's as thin, almost wiry, as she is small, but Reborn is quick to dismiss it to her age. Hair a rich, vivid brown mane that seems untamable the way it sticks out to all sides. Even as he follows the long strands fall just past her shoulders they curl up as if they abhorred gravity.

In a very close passing by to the object of his curiosity he finds her eyes most striking, though: a very warm brown bordering on orange. But perhaps the light plays tricks on him.

Like this, his observations of her come and pass in split-seconds. In the Mafia, age restrictions, disparate to the way the rest of the world handles them, are merely a loose directive. If one is capable of handling a weapon and taking care of oneself he is well onto his way to adulthood. Reborn has been a gun for hire since his early teenage years and his first taste of alcoholic liquor comes close to that. The Mafia is loose like that. For all he knows the glass in the girl's hand could be filled with water or wodka. Some things are difficult to tell with brief observations.

Still, there are others which strike him as unusual.

For one: he's never seen Mafia youth wear such a soft expression on their face. Calm, carefree even. The newly-appointed Ninth of the Vongola _famiglia_ may have demanded that weapons stay sheathed for this occasion. It's his coronation party after all. But this is the Mafia we're talking about, even if tonight is a night to be celebrated. Blood is etched into everyone's minds one way or the other and people are _thinking_ of it.

That's why this girl looks out of her league in this kind of environment. He can pinpoint the names of a dozen hitmen casually strolling past her frame. He can see people warily eyeing each other, waiting for an assault to happen. All she does is _laugh_.

Her expression are bare for the world to see: her eyes light up in excited chatter, lips curve into a smile when there is reason to, cheeks redden when topics follow a more intimate nature. She even hides her face behind her drink in an attempt to hide her embarassment. And contrary to what he's seen on other faces throughout the night, it all looks _genuine_ on her; bloodless.

She's either a ridiculously clever spy or a stray that waltzed into the wrong place by pure, unlucky chance.

A waiter passes him just then, startling him out of his ruminations with the offer to refill his drink. It takes Reborn but a moment to notice the lack of drink in his glass as well as the fact that the waiter is obscuring his vision. The hitman raises the glass in silent answer, eager to return to his little game, and the waiter pours the velvet liquid generously before bowing and taking his leave.

And she's gone.

Reborn doesn't show it on the outside but inwardly he curses the man to hell and back. With learned precision his eyes scan the length of the room; dart from the myriad of suits and dresses over to colors and light but _white_ , he's looking for white, and it's missing entirely.

A thought enters his mind unbidden. Surely she can't have noticed—

"You're making inquiries about me, Mr. Reborn," a soft voice brushes his shoulders, warm breath traveling all the way to his ear. "Why ever would you need to do that?"

He can't help but smirk at her small victory. The waiter has been part of a precisely timed distraction, a setup sneaking past his judgement of her character. He's been wrong in one regard:

She's no stray. She belongs to this world as much as he does.

It makes things easier.

Reborn doesn't turn around to meet her gaze but raises his refilled glass to his lips instead; just enough for the cool surface to brush his lips. "You have me at a disadvantage, miss." He takes a sip from his beverage. "You know my name. What about yours?"

Against the stifling warmth of bodies the brush of her arm over his is almost scalding hot. She circles him with long, precise steps, and absentmindedly he thinks the heels are just for show. She only wears them to cover up the predator in her innocent appearance.

Large eyes—warm flames—lock gazes with him. For someone who knows exactly who he is she is fearless, he'll give her that. Even grown men tremble in the presence of the world's most renown hitman. But they are also the one with the dirty secrets to hide that can easily make them his next target.

Who is she, to be so fearless then?

"Tsunayoshi Sawada," she says with an unwavering gaze.

Younger than fifteen, he guesses on gut feeling. Even with the hint of make-up on her face. "Japanese. How very rare," he draws out between a smirk and a sip and watches her intently. She does the same; eyes firm, checking his face for signs of both truth and lie. "Which one might be your first name? I hear there is a difference in naming conventions."

Of course Reborn knows this already. But a good hitman knows his prey first so he plays the naïve.

Her small mouth curves into a smile. "I was born and raised in Italy, Mr. Reborn. I'm more used to European naming conventions than my own."

She has a soothing voice. Neither too high-pitched nor too deep. It's relaxing and, as the sight of her, refreshing.

He reaches for her hand and draws it close to his lips, placing a featherlight kiss on its back. "Tsunayoshi-san it is then." She raises a brow at the Japanese suffix he's added and Reborn smirks triumphantly. He can never play the naïve idiot for too long. It's beneath him. "Vongola Primo's roots can be traced back to Japan. It would be unwise not to learn both languages of our founder: Italian and Japanese."

To his surprise all she does is chuckle in response. "You're a funny man."

This catches him off-guard. He's a hitman, not a comedian! "How so?" He lets go of her hand.

"You tried to bait me with ignorance. Twice, actually." There is a fire in those eyes that is unnaturally bright. "Your knowledge runs deeper than you let on." Tsunayoshi Sawada inclines her head and for a brief moment he thinks himself dismissed. Instead she does the opposite. "Be my company for a dance?"

It's not exactly common for a female to ask a man to dance, even if they are in the more lenient parts of the Mafia. Reborn scans the crowd once more before finally settling his gaze on her. "You don't have one?"

He's purposedly biding time and purposedly feigning ignorance just to test her words. Again she picks it up, fire dancing with amusement. A quick wit. "Wouldn't you know? You've been keeping an eye on me for a great deal of the night."

If it were any other woman he'd have gone in for the kill. But Tsunayoshi Sawada is just a girl. He's not sure whether she knows the extent of her own words and what they imply to a grown man.

"Besides," she interrupts his thoughts, "I'm a little too young to have that sort of company with me. I came with the Ninth's entourage and he is _very_ protective of me." In an almost off-handed manner she points at the Ninth and his guardians to one corner of the ballroom, the center of tonight's attention. "But surely you knew that as well already."

Reborn raises his brows for two reasons. One, that his prey has turned out to be someone of greater importance than he's thought. Two, that she knows _exactly_ what sort of game she is playing with him. He glances at her glass and wonders if someone didn't actually sneak some alcohol inside. For someone so young she is uncannily perceptive.

And that is going to be the end of that line of thought. Too young. Also placed under the protection of the Ninth himself apparently. It will do him little good to upset the man.

Reborn sneaks an arm under hers and leads her towards the dancing floor. "It would be my honor." They discard their drinks on a waiter's plate on the way and he takes the brief window of time to go through their conversation. There's something bothering him: she's not entirely right in her assumptions. He's feigned ignorance over her language and its naming patterns as well as over her lack of companionship. But he definitely _hasn't_ known about her very important existence beforehand.

Is she playing with him? No, she sounded too confident for that.

He knows nothing about her but maybe it is to his advantage that she thinks his inquiries are merely for show and not for lack of actual knowledge. In that single aspect she's been too over-confident and that's a dangerous weakness she's exposed. In some aspects it's a good thing she's still young and inexperienced. Better than most but still inexperienced.

He takes her hand in his and guides the other to his shoulder. She looks at him with a smile and they pick up a slow dance.

Tsunayoshi Sawada is not as pure as she looks. Nor is she as witty as she might think. But she is a change of pace with her contrasting nature and his curiosity is piqued, at least for the night. She may not be a spy—which is too bad because he could do with a little shootout—but instead he finds her to be a small, unfamiliar girl that is part of the newly-appointed Ninth's close circle.

Now that's a new set of rules in his game he's willing to play with.

One dance becomes two becomes three. And with each new dance the disparate layers around her fall apart under his scrutinizing stare until he finds himself wondering what sort of game he's entered into this time. And whether the rules are actually all set by him.

At the expense of heels drilling into his shoe he finds out that, for all her quick wit, she is a terrible dancer.

When her hand latches onto a nearby woman's necklace and nearly rips the adornment in two he concludes that she has awful motor functions in general.

Reborn pulls her out of the way of a waitress carrying a plate stacked with numerous tiny cakes. She doesn't even notice that she's almost knocked her head into it but her cheeks are burning red, and its not from exhaustion.

A white dress with orange petals; soft features and bright eyes to drown in; a personality that can play on par with his. It makes for the perfect kind of woman. But _this?_

 _Is she playing with me?_ He asks himself again. But he knows the answer this time. He's been blinded by her over-confidence.

His thoughts must have shown on this face then because the blush wanders to her ears now: he's never seen anyone _this_ bad at even the most basic bodily functions. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?" he asks in a straightforward manner, completely foregoing their previous banter. He wants an answer before his illusion of her pops entirely.

Tsunayoshi bites her lower lip and looks at their moving feet instead. "I'm trying my best?" she eventually says and this time she's the young girl he's first seen from afar: the one that is thrown into an adult's world by chance and luck and in which she does not belong. Her presence diminishes under his dominance.

Reborn snorts at the thought. This prey of his... "I should change your name to something more appropriate," he muses and releases her waist only long enough to readjust his fedora hat before pulling her along with him, deeper onto the dancing floor and away from prying eyes and ears and incidents.

It takes all her concentration to keep up with him. "And that is?"

Gut feeling tells him he is about to reveal the last layers to this once blank canvas. The time of pretense has passed. And he may just enjoy it all the same. "Dame-Tsuna."

Her eyes widen comically and she slips—both in composure and in real. He catches her just in time. "That's mean!" she exclaims, instantly accomodating to what he does; no longer pretending when he doesn't _._ She probably doesn't realize that she's fallen into step with him instead of being ahead. Ah, inexperienced and _so_ easy to goad, now that he knows her weakness. He isn't going to fall for it a second time. It's a good thing she doesn't notice her dazzling effect fully. _  
_

"But fitting." If what she has heard of him is even remotely close to the truth then she should be prepared for his bluntness. "You are _No Good_ at this," he translates back to Italian.

Throwing female courtesy out of the window she gives his shoulder a little shove. "Reborn!" The fire in her eyes roars with indignation.

He can't help the lopsided smirk. The night turned out more interesting than he initially anticipated. "I believe you forgot the _Mister_." He's feigning ignorance again.

" _I_ believe we're both above any form of formalities now," she answers, catching him red-handed again. She crosses her arms over her chest and her presence spikes as wildly as her hair. "You're insulting a lady after all."

She looks lovely. And much too young.

But she's entertaining, he'll give her that.

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 **Enjoyed it? Leave a review! See you next time. :)**

 **Behind The Scenes: I got the idea for this story after reading **_AkaMizu-chan_ **'s fic called** _Waiting_ **. If you like to read something Fon-centric with a similar outset, that's a good place to go.**


	2. Unlucky Number

**I don't own** ** ** ** _Katekyō Hitman Reborn!_****.**

 **Guest Reviews (chronological):**

 _Ame: (from what my school spanish could tell me XD)_ **Luce will play a part (as she did in the original), so the Sky Arcobaleno position will stay hers. Sorry! Still, Tsuna will become important in her own way. :)**

 _Guest 1:_ **And here it is, the next chapter! Hopefully at least half as good as the first one. We're only starting out.**

 _Guest 2:_ **Thank you! I will definitely continue, though I have other stories to update, too. It might take a while sometimes, I hope you'll forgive me.**

 **Guest Reviews** ** **– The End****.

 **Thank you all for your kind feedback! Without further ado I present to you: Chapter 2!**

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 **Unlucky Number**

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Thirteen years. Reborn finds out that Tsunayoshi Sawada is thirteen years younger than him.

"Do you have to groom your sideburns every morning for them to curl up like that?"

Which is nowhere near young enough to avoid getting shot by him. But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

It's once more by pure chance that they meet again, the hitman Reborn and "Dame-Tsuna" Sawada. With the ball left behind them in light banter and an eventual goodbye, the events of that night seemed like little more than a sweet memory the next time he awoke. If she hadn't explicitly stated to be part of the Ninth's entourage he probably wouldn't even have known the family she belonged to. As it stands, they are actually both part of the Vongola, and therefore bound to meet again.

Not that he's actively wishing for it, oh no, that'd be beneath him. In his books she was entertaining but due to her age, off-limits. Any other woman he might have enticed into his bed but a little girl? That's just plain wrong. Her connections to the Ninth could prove important in the long run, though—or dangerous, depending on how well his behavior is received by the man. Reborn still doesn't know the exact space she occupies within the man's heart.

In good hitman fashion Reborn therefore decides to let the matter drop for the time being. There is no spy, there is no prey, there is nothing to gain and that is to be the best for both of them. Besides, he has to shift his attention elsewhere first; to the reason he went to the ball in the first place.

It takes the messenger two days to arrive at the hotel he's booked in Sicily. Orange flames lick at the sealed envelope and the wax seal bears the sign of a clam. Reborn hums in appreciation as he skims the content of the curt but elegantly written letter. The Ninth takes his new position seriously, more so perhaps than the fierce Lady Ottavo before him did. While her loyalty was uncontested she truly despised paperwork. Financially, Vongola's in a stump.

 _We'll see whether this man can get us out of it_ , Reborn muses as he packs his few belongings and checks out; his particular skill set is needed once more.

It is under these circumstances the young hitman finds himself driving up to the Ninth's summer residence with a smug expression on his face and the laid-back gait of overbearing confidence once he leaves the car.

And why should he not take pride in being summoned by the Ninth personally? He's earned every piece of infamy with his own two skilled hands and made sure the Vongola noticed his quick ascension through the ranks. His intentions are spurred not by loyalty entirely but something else: to work directly under a Mafia boss only means more rewarding missions. His guns have been itching for a worthwhile opponent.

In this moment of rare victorious weakness, when he's doing all but thinking of her, has nearly erased the evening from his mind, and has only the future ahead of him, Tsunayoshi Sawada decides to show him exactly how much a worthwhile opponent _she_ is.

When he raises his hand to ring the bell the door crashes open and even his honed reflexes can't get him out of harm's way fast enough.

The wood meets with his face the moment the bullet leaves his gun. The door splinters into a thousand pieces, raining down around him, and a single one splinter brushes his cheek and draws blood.

He sees red.

"Chaos," he greets the shell-shocked assailant, dripping murderous intent into every syllable, fedora hat drawing a long shadow across his dark eyes. If his first impression as a dangerous hitman is ruined on the very doorstep to the mansion of the Ninth...

It's better not to leave any witnesses. He aims his gun at the cowering figure. Surely nobody will mind a missing maid. "Actually, let's make this _arrivederci_."

"Reborn?!"

He blinks at the familiarity of the voice, momentarily forgetting his rage. "You..." He lowers his gun. "What are you doing here?"

Her hair is the same unruly mess as on the night they met; even more so now that her cheeks are flushed from running and there's flour all over her clothes—

Is she as incompetent at cooking as she is at dancing? _Really?_ She's going to make a horrible wife.

—but then his mind catches up with his observations and he can't help but wonder, _this is the Ninth's private summer residence. A place only selected few are allowed to visit._ Selected, _trusted_ few like _him_.

What _is_ she doing here?

She doesn't answer immediately, just straightens her dress (that's a lost cause already, judging from the chocolate smears all over the fine cloth) and smiles sheepishly. It's almost enough to make him point the gun to her head but she calculates the pause just long enough before she drops the bomb on him in her refreshingly blunt way as if his surprise is something laughable.

"Why, I live here."

 _No,_ is his first reaction, and he presses the gun under her chin. "Do you now? I find that hard to believe. You're not trailing me instead?"

Tsuna raises her hands and eyes the weapon warily. "I knew _Nono_ would invite you over. There's no need to shadow you." Her eyes flicker up to his before she looks to the side, muttering something along the lines of ' _Were you always this pushy?_ ' _._

"Yes, I was and yes, I can hear you." He withdraws his weapon and looks her over. Just like that she's all over his mind again and he can't help but see it as another game to find out more about this ball of surprise. There's a difference between the honor of being bestowed the boss' trust to come and leave his most private quarters as one pleases and the actual fact of _living there with him._

She practically stands above him in rank. He can't allow that to go to her head. Reborn slips out of his black jacket and drops it into her hands. She fumbles to catch it. "Lead me to your boss," he says and her reaction doesn't disappoint.

Tsuna puffs her cheeks. "I'm no maid!"

He points at the red line marring his face. "You opened the door. Don't you know how to play host?" And he never noticed her presence coming. That's something to wonder about later, too.

For a moment she looks genuinely sorry. Then a female scream interrupts them and she spins her head around in shock and fear.

There's a _real_ maid standing in a similarly sour state as the female next to him—all chocolate and flour—pointing at the girl with an angry face. "Tsunayoshi-sama! How dare you leave me to deal with a situation like this! _The kitchen nearly burned down!_ "

"U-Um..." Tsuna fidgets with the jacket between her fingers.

"And didn't I tell you to change your clothes before we start cooking lessons? _Look at what you've done to it!_ " Reborn cocks his head to the side, feeling moody. The maid is prone to screeching. He doesn't like screeching.

"But I wore an apron—"

" _That caught on fire!_ "

A shot stops the two women from fighting and they finally turn their attention back to the hitman. Reborn rights his fedora before looking down at the definitely Very Important Person in this mansion that's managed to burn down a kitchen. Way to go about ruining first impressions. "I have a meeting. You either lead me to it or I will perforate you with lead. Your choice."

She's quick to jump at the chance to escape, leading him up the stairs. He can't believe what he's gotten into. She's important, lives with the most important man in the Vongola, is therefore under his protection and managed to sneak a door-attack on him. Yet she can't dance, cook, nor properly walk up the stairs without stumbling once. And still she has him intrigued with her clever, confident and contradicting ways.

If they're bound to see more of each other, he'll make sure to find out who exactly this girl is before he makes his decision on whether to put her on his good or bad graces.

His guns are itching for a worthwhile opponent after all.

* * *

The truth is revealed to him within the first couple weeks of his visits. It doesn't make it any easier to digest.

After the rather turbulent and anticlimactic reunion—for there is little left of the wonders of that evening but cinders—he is faced with the reality of balancing business with his private leisure. His first meeting with the Ninth went down surprisingly friendly. Timoteo is as pleasant and benign as his reputation precedes him. He also has a stack of papers on his desk just waiting to be looked over. Formidable so far.

Yet even the friendliest of men needs someone to do the dirty work for him. When Reborn leaves the richly decorated room it is with two new envelopes; both new targets for him. Cleaning up is most important _after_ a new succession after all. Until the winds of change have settled and accepted the Ninth into his position he'll have a familiar list of names to browse through.

After a particularly fast mission—his target raised the white flag the moment he recognized the hitman after his life as Reborn—he returns to the mansion early and catches the girl wandering the hallways on her own. She's usually among the first to greet him back the moment he enters the foyer and should that fail, she stays close to the Ninth's office to intercept him from there. Tsunayoshi Sawada is curious about him for some reason; always trying to draw out stories of his contracts past and present.

His mind warns him that she's too young, too admiring, to genuine, but every once in a while he gives in. Her eyes light up in unveiled fascination whenever he does. Receiving that kind of attention strokes his ego in just the right ways. She makes for the best audience.

He finds himself looking forward to his visits to the summer residence for more than the rewards he gets. "Chaos, Tsuna," he says in greeting and the wandering girl stops dead in her tracks. The changes in her face are visible for all to see: dazzled confusion at being caught idling to a warm smile of welcoming recognition.

"Reborn! You're back early," she answers in return, making a bee-line for the hitman and stopping only inches from him. She looks at him from beneath her lashes. "Welcome back."

He lazily points a gun at her. "Don't believe you're cute if you do something like that."

"HIE! I won't, I won't!" Tsuna backs off a few feet. "Maria usually greets one of our other hitman like this. He looks so happy when she does. You're always grumpy."

One moment this girl tempts him with big, brown eyes, the next she is completely oblivious. Reborn pockets his gun away. "That's because Maria has different assets than you." Assets as in breasts. Large ones. And he knows the hitman—Francesco—is all about big breasts and a valley to lose himself in. "For one: she combs her hair." She doesn't need to know every detail.

Tsuna puffs her cheeks. She's just fourteen. He's heard one of the maids speak of her upcoming fifteenth birthday. Just a child, so why does he bother? "It's not like I can tame it anyway. Got it from my father." She looks defiantly to the side.

Ah, he knows now why he bothers with her. It's far too much fun to manipulate her. "Your father?" Come to think of it, he's yet to find out. She can't possibly be the Ninth's child. The man's far too young to father a teenage child. It would have compromised his rise through the ranks.

She looks lost in thoughts again. "Mhm. Tall guy, wild hair, really strong." She looks him in the eye. "You haven't met him yet?"

Even if the first fascination has worn off, Reborn always finds himself musing about her ability to look him straight in the eyes without appearing nervous. "No, I don't believe I've been so lucky."

"It's better like that," she says, face blanching. She doesn't like her father? Interesting. " _Nono_ went to rest an hour ago. If you don't mind waiting with me, there's lunch in the dining hall." With a smile and a playful curtsy she evades the topic of her background once more. Her eyes twinkle and he can't shake off the feeling that he's being toyed with. But she's only _fourteen_ , how can she toy with him?

Then he remembers the ball and how she cleverly used a waiter as a lure to distract him. And suddenly he finds himself believing in her abilities again.

He'll never give her the satisfaction of holding the upper hand over him; he's only let her _feel_ superior with her playfullness. He could've easily found out via different means but he wants to crack _her_. Before she manages to flee the room he catches her wrist between his fingers. "Maybe I'll meet the man on my travels. I should greet him properly."

Ah, he does have a short temper when it comes to losing at his own games. Tsuna chuckles. Reborn almost wants to reach for his gun again.

The girl nods, lips pursed and Reborn squints his eyes at her. _Oh no, you're not winning._ "You still haven't found out?" Her eyes flicker with amusement.

His gaze turns into a glare. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I thought you'd have asked _Nono_ about me by now." She grins and he feels doom rush towards him. There it is again, the born Mafia spirit pushing the little girl away. "Your pride is bigger than I imagined. With the way you always try to steer conversations back to me to— _HIE!_ "

The hitman points a gun at the girl and she shrieks back before ducking into a crouch with her hands above her head. As if that would help, silly girl. _Told you you wouldn't win._ "Keep talking while you're at it." He simply loves to demonstrate his dominance.

She eyes the gun with a guarded expression but the tension in her shoulder loosens a bit. It doesn't mean he's stopped aiming the weapon at her. "My father is part of CEDEF." Tentatively she stands up again.

He releases the security switch on the weapon. Goosebumps come and go on her soft flesh as she processes the sound. "And?" Reborn asks with a wicked, impatient smile. "There's a lot of people in CEDEF whose children aren't here."

"Well," she starts, glancing between his shadowed eyes and the black end of his gun. For a child she manages to keep her composure around him better than most adults. Of course she is distrustful of his weapon—who wouldn't be?—but she's not distrustful of _him_ per se. Again a fascinating, clashing contrast of girl and mafioso. "My father is a special case. He's the external advisor."

There's a long silence following her statement.

"How the hell did you manage to become so No Good at life with that kind of guy as father?"

"Reborn!" she exclaims and shoves his gun away fearlessly. "I _knew_ you'd insult me again!"

* * *

It's not like he—a twenty-seven year old adult—isn't capable of courtesy, but...

"You can't cook." Silence. "Nor behave as is expected of someone of your status." Silence and a reddening face. "You do know you're supposed to eat soup with a spoon?"

That's the last straw. The wet fork clashes into the plate. "Reborn!" It's starting to become a common sound, the way she calls his name. She crosses her arms and fumes silently. "That's why I didn't want to tell you," the girl mutters.

Maybe he's a little too harsh with her. That's just him being himself, though. Always the sweet talker. "I'm just stating the obvious. I can't believe you're that man's daughter."

Ietsuna Sawada, the head of CEDEF. He should've connected the two earlier but to do that would be to compare apples and oranges. He's never seen the man in person, only ever brief encounters from afar. The external advisor knew how to hide his existence well. His calculating, manipulative reputation precedes him, draws a long shadow over the whole of Italy; perhaps that's why he's earned the name ' _Shadow_ _King_ '.

The man is a living legend. If it weren't for him, Vongola territory would be dotted with small-scale wars thanks to the Eight's temper. She means well but her sense for justice is too grand for a corrupt organization such as the Mafia. Only the external advisor manages to calm her down and force her into patience, or so the story goes.

Truly, Reborn is capable of courtesy but this piece of information is simply scandalous. He has to make fun of it lest he loses all respect for his own Family. His gut feeling hasn't been wrong when he thought her interesting and intriguing but this is just laughable.

He also can't stand the fact the she's even higher ranked now compared to him. It does wound his skillful ego. If things continued like this, it's his head on a platter when something goes wrong. He doesn't like babysitting rich and important brats. They take offense too easily and if he shoots them he's in more trouble than is worth the shot.

Besides, it's been so much fun threatening the girl into obedience that it's not easy to stop it now. Too bad.

"I'm not _that_ bad," Tsuna says out of the blue and he wonders if his expression slipped. Then he realizes she's talking about something else. She takes the spoon between her fingers. "Mom prefers her daughter alive and well. That's why I spent my summers here, so that I can be taught proper etiquette and the like. Lady training, she calls it." He barely hears the next statement over the clinking of the cutlery. "The ball was the first time I went out in public on my own."

The dining hall isn't as grand as in the headquarters but it's still sizeable. Yet it manages to retain a certain coziness, as if it's trying to suggerate a familiarity between the inhabitans of this house. They sit on opposite sites of the table and Reborn has briefly wondered why there is no one but them eating when it's so clearly built for more.

Now he knows why. The girl has been sheltered and protected her whole life. And she clings to him because he is the complete opposite. "Well, _lady training_ isn't such a success, either," he retorts and wipes his mouth before he reaches for the meatier food.

Tsuna throws him a glare. For a moment he sees orange flames licking at her dark irises but he shakes it off as an hallucination of sorts. "Do you want me to throw my unused fork at you?"

"You're going to need it for the next course. I would advise against it."

"You really _are_ blunt." After that she retreats back to eating but he knows it's only for the moment. She always comes back to him eventually. One day he'll manage to insult her enough for her to grow irritated with him. It's not the first time it's happened and maybe that is for the best though the thought sits sour on his mind. She really is a formidable target. He doesn't like his entertainment falling on the short side.

The silence stretches on for a long time, broken only by the sound of cutlery and an old clock on the wall ticking away. The silence is comfortable, at least for him, and it gives him time to mull about this new information.

Her comeback catches him off-guard entirely. Thirteen years. Tsunayoshi Sawada is thirteen years younger than him, he tries to remind himself.

"Do you have to groom your sideburns every morning for them to curl up like that?"

Which is nowhere near young enough to avoid getting shot by him. "You choose the worst questions to die over," he says, suddenly at her side with his gun raised to her temple.

All she does is chuckle and if he hasn't caught her fingers fidgeting nervously, he'd have thought she doesn't mind the weapon at all.

He has the freedom to do whatever he likes to the most elite subjects in the Mafia, all thanks to his reputation—and here is a little girl deliberately provoking him, trying to best him at his own game. He's had bulkier man worshipping his every footstep with a reverence bordering on fear. But she doesn't even apologize. For a fourteen-year-old she is quite the daring sight in that regard.

Reborn withdraws his weapon and looks at the girl with the dishevelled hair. Her mother might have tried to protect her but this girl has a stronger will than most. "You have guts." And against all logical reason that tells him to leave her be, he finds himself drawn to the fact that she is that way unlike most other rich brats. Not that he'll ever tell her.

"Thank you." The orange in her eyes is warm and soft. "Can I ask you a favor?"

For a moment he feels toyed with again; wonders how much of their interactions was planned ahead. She is Ietsuna's daughter after all and she's tricked him once at the ball already. Perhaps there is something to the cursed number thirteen that has the two of them dancing around each other like this. "What exactly can I do for the lady?" he asks with mock-courtesy.

She picks it up but this time she stays calm and collected. "Can you teach me how to shoot?"

Perhaps there is more entertainment to be found after all.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Phew, this was a toughie. I had to get things started somehow and this felt like the best way to do it. If you find something sounding odd, don't be afraid to tell me. Thank you all again for the Alerts and Favorites and Reviews so far! They made my day(s). :) Until next time!**


	3. The Will of the Busy

**I don't own** ** ** ** _Katekyō Hitman Reborn!_****.**

* * *

 **The Will of the Busy  
**

* * *

Tsuna is stubborn, to say the least. "No? What do you mean no?"

Reborn stops abruptly. She immediately bumps into him. What else did he expect? She's clumsy at best. The only asset she has going for her is her witty mouth and even that is trying. She still has a long way to go, although she has her moments.

When he turns his head around he catches her rubbing her nose with a pained expression. Serves her right. "It means I won't teach you a single thing about guns."

"Today," she quips immediately, "you mean you won't teach me _today_ , right?" She laughs uncertainly; wobbly, really. Witty mouth in training, indeed. The Shadow King's daughter. A CEDEF-like perceptive quality, but poorly executed. At least he can finally put a finger on it now, what was at once bothering as well as reeling him in. Still, when he goes over it logically it just seems like a bad joke.

This time, though, he won't play around. Well, not really. It's entertaining to watch her try, with all her little midget might, to convince him to teach her how to wield a pistol when technically she could order him to do so. She's just too childishly naive.

And since she doesn't, he won't comply either. Not that he'll listen to a fourteen-year-old even if she does decide to bark orders at him. "Do I look like a babysitter?" Reborn blinks once. "No."

"But you won't be my babysitter, I promise! You'd be my teacher!"

"Seeing as teachers only ever teach annoying little brats, that's almost the same as babysitting to me. I have more important matters to attend to." He picks up a fast pace again and hears hurried steps follow. Stubborn, that's for sure. He hasn't even had the chance to finish his meal in peace. "Why don't you ask your dear father to train you? He's a very capable fighter from what I've heard."

He can nearly feel her cringe behind him. A sore spot? "He's... busy with other matters," she mutters in a weak echo of his words.

It doesn't go uncommented, of course. "Really. Like the rest of us adults," he retorts dryly. It's enjoyable to witness her energy deflate. Give her a few more years (in his mocking presence) and nobody will be able to hold a candle to her wit. But right now she's little more than a gold fish in its bowl: looking pretty and watching the world pass by. Occasionally she knocks at the glass and waves and everybody claps because who taught a gold fish to wave?

And then it's back to the usual.

Reborn frowns over his own image. The usual would mean to place her back in an ivory tower, surrounded by maids and butlers, eating dinner in a room that looked familiar and cozy but was barely frequented. A gold fish making its rounds inside that tiny bowl, over and over again.

How has she not gone mad already?

They draw around a corner, nodding at two maids passing them by. "Fine, I'll tell you!" Tsuna catches up to him, and is that a glare she throws at him? Pitiful. "My Mom isn't supposed to find out, so I can't ask Dad. She has him wrapped around her little finger." What a fascinating family constellation. Then again, anyone that manages to stay married to the Shadow King for more than a decade has to be out of their mind or extremely influential, so no surprise there. What's that woman's name again? She's not really tangible to the public.

There really is a lot of mystery surrounding the external advisor. "So you want to conduct this in secret, too? Aren't you picky." He stops in front of the guest room assigned to him.

"I... maybe?"

What a pitiful expression. She knows that she's lost her chance at victory. He likes her determined and confident expression more. Let her revive that first. "You're not convincing enough. Have a pleasant night." Then he slams the door shut. He hears her stomp once before she retreats. Reborn smirks. For now.

Certainly, the girl's behavior is entertaining to watch, more so to manipulate. He finds himself more amused when she actually catches him red-handed in the act of trying to do so. And when she asked him to be her teacher he has definitely entertained the idea of taking her under his wing.

Then he remembered that rich kids really aren't worth his time. Even if she's willing to learn, she has no prior experience whatsoever. Starting from scratch with him as teacher, the best hitman in history? Please, he has an ego to uphold. Useless students are a waste of his time. He may have taken a few some years back (the pay is extraordinarily good, that's for sure) but most of the boys broke far too easy under his tutelage. A lot of them ended up becoming diplomats. For some reason they started to really dislike weapons.

Reborn smiles. Good old times.

He woke late next morning and took his time to shower. By the time he steps out of the bathroom one of the maids has brought him his breakfast. How they knew when he woke and went to shower, he has yet to find out. He's already double-checked the room for bugs and secret passages but there are none.

Wearing little more than a towel he heads to the generously large dresser to pick out a suit when he notices a piece of paper by the door. Frowning, he changes course and kneels down to pick it up.

The content is curt: _Please?_

She really is stubborn.

He looks around for a pen and writes an equally curt answer below the request: _No._ He pushes the paper back through the door slit. Here's hoping the maids don't get to it first but he has a good feeling about it. Reborn cocks his head to the side. She wants to talk to him. He doesn't have to. He smiles. Surely he can spend a few hours inside without anyone interrupting. He's bought a few new books to read lately, too.

Whether she likes it or not: she picks up on the new game. Instead of an attempt at talking him into the position, he hears a knock on the door not half an hour later and feet dashing away.

There's a new piece of paper. _Any form of self-defense? It doesn't have to be weapons.  
_

 _No._

When he grows bored of reading, Reborn goes out for a secret stroll in the woods Mafia-style: by lowering himself from his window with a rope. Nobody catches wind of him escaping his room. When he comes back there's another paper waiting for him.

 _I'm not without talent! I just cut the meat for today's dinner.  
_

 _No._

He has maids bring him supper to his room. The meat looks as if a wolf has had his way with it. "How fares the lady of this house?" he asks with a smirk as he places down his hat to eat.

"Tsunayoshi-sama?" The maid blinks, fixing the flowers in a vase next to her. "She wishes not to be disrupted. She says she has important matters to take care of and has cancelled her lessons for the day."

He nearly snorts. That little brat sure tries her hardest to seem like an adult. Even goes as far as to mimick him. Does she hope to gain a greater understanding of him if she stays coped up inside her room the same way he does?

The intervals between her inquiries shorten the further the evening advances. She's either getting impatient or planning something. Perhaps the child is starting to get sleepy. Either way, Reborn is intrigued. He's interested to see to what lengths she'll go to get her will in the end.

 _I know you're in there. Instead of wasting time, you could use it to train me._

 _No._

He's barely had the time to advance a chapter in his book before the paper slips through the slit once again.

 _I could pay you._

Her payment, especially for something that's to be conducted in secret, is probably abyssmal.

 _No._

 _Can you answer in more than a syllable? It'll make writing easier for me.  
_

 _No._

By now he's exchanged his comfortable spot on the bed for one on the carpet next to the door. He flicks through the pages of his books absentmindedly, not even registering the words as he waits for her next words. She thinks them through. She could flood his room with messages but she tries to get to her target with as little steps as possible.

The paper flits inside again.

 _Why?_

Reborn stares at the word for a long time. He can't exactly escape this one with his trademark 'no'. Hm.

She has a neat, orderly way of writing. Practical. _Why,_ he wonders instead, is she so intent on learning in the first place? The world is open to her. She can choose to study, to travel the world, all without risk. If she wants to marry she'd have a variety of men to choose from if only for the fact that she's the only child of the legendary Ietsuna. They have enough fighters and enough brawls with other families to last them a life-time. Why choose to dirty her hands when it could be so much easier? He likes his life but he's also never known the luxury of freedom she has.

Then he remembers his own image of her: a gold fish in a bowl. The world it sees through the glass is large and vast and everything seems possible. Yet the fish is dependant on others—how will it ever get to the other side of the room if it is not carried, bowl and all?

 _"That's why I didn't want to tell you," the girl mutters._

Reborn rests his head against the wall. Of course. Life can go both ways when you're born important. It will be dictated, from the way you dress to the people you meet. It's not something he knows, nor something he'll ever want to experience in the flesh. No wonder she is drawn to him. He's probably the first person who hasn't tried to carry the bowl around at her whims like her maids and butlers do. No, he'll be more inclined to kick it down and leave the fish with its struggles.

Instead of responding directly he underlines the one-syllable question and returns the paper. It flitters through to his side not a moment later. Through the wall he can actually hear the pen racing across the paper and the rustling of clothes as she shifts position.

 _Why? _

_Because I know I can do more._

Reborn smirks at that. The girl wants nothing to do with what she can have easily. She wants what's out of her reach, wants to be treated less like royalty and more like a peasant. Now that's true Mafia spirit. He scribbles down his answer.

 _No._

And through the door he hears a groan and unmistakably "Reborn!"

It's strangely comforting.

* * *

The next day he decides that confinement isn't for him after all and leaves his room to eat breakfast with the rest of the house—that is, the maids and butlers because he's an early riser.

Tsuna comes down by the time he's finished and lounges on a nearby couch to read the newspaper. She groggily stumbles into the room, looking very much the opposite of a morning person. "Good morning, Dame-Tsuna," he greets nonchalantly.

"Goo—" It takes her a moment to realize the extent of her situation. "YOU!"

Apparently Tsuna prioritizes her situation differently than her personal maid Julietta does. The screeching one. "TSUNAYOSHI-SAMA! How can you come down still looking like this?! We have a guest!"

 _This_ meaning a knee-long nightgown and even worse hair than usual. That's a feat. "Really, how could you. I'm offended." Reborn doesn't even look up from his reading.

"Like you care— _oof!_ "

"It's you who should care! Let's get you dressed!"

"But I'm hungry..."

"A lady is never publicly hungry!"

"I don't get it— _kyaaa!_ "

Fifteen minutes later she's down again looking more exhausted than before. Her hair is now a ball of fluff. She sits down and munches on a scone with glazed eyes. "You're so lucky you're not a woman," she mutters.

To that he can only agree. "Not that I'd call you a woman." The scone comes flying. He moves his head out of the way and tut-tuts. Definitely not a morning person.

She finishes eating mostly in silence. The Ninth is currently away in Milan and they have the residence mostly for themselves. In the morning come the messengers but the servants oblige to that task before Tsuna even raises her head. Reborn sneaks a glance at her. She doesn't seem perturbed by the oiled machine that is the servants running the mansion. If at all, he notices, she uses the distraction to swiftly swap places from the dining table to the seat next to him.

He gives her a meaningful look down the length of his hat. "Really?"

Tsuna smiles, her back straight and defiantly turned _away_ from the maid in her back. Julietta's smile looks forced as she tries to signal Reborn to help her. But if there's one thing Tsuna apparently knows, it's the duties and routines of the servants around: she strikes up a conversation in an attempt to keep the maid at bay. "You're a busy person."

With a quick glance to the head maid, he decides to respond. "Yes." Why, he's never liked to be roped into cooperation against his own free will.

"Is that the reason you won't take a student?"

"Half."

"Is this the continuation of the one-syllable game?"

"No," he lies.

She chuckles, if only briefly. She seems to try to rouse the same persona she's had at the ball; serious, watchful, inquiring. The vibes she gives off aren't quite the same, he's afraid. Even if the blue dress is pleasing to look at. "You always come to this house after you're done with your missions." House? She calls this a house? Rich brat.

"Mhm."

"To report to the Ninth."

"Yes."

"But, like today, sometimes the Ninth isn't here."

"True."

"So, what are you doing here that keeps you busy?"

His lips part in reflex but he stops himself in time. Clever. But only a small victory. He immediately counters her one-sided interview. "Instead of trying to vie for my attention, isn't there something else you should be doing right now? 'Lady training', as I remember."

Tsuna's face contorts in a pale grimace that would've been funny if it weren't so sickeningly terrified. Well, it still is funny, actually. "I know. I feel her eyes drilling into my back."

"A most painful experience." He returns his gaze to the newspaper. Now that he has her talking instead of him, the situation looks in his favor again. "If you're so capable, why don't you ace your training first before attempting something new? If you run after two hares, you will catch neither, as they say."

She looks away, blushing. "It's not like I'm not trying..."

"So you're telling me you're trying your best at something like eating soup with a spoon and failing." He flips to the next page. "And you still have the nerve to say you're a capable student."

"I—yes, don't make it sound so hopeless."

"It will sound hopeless no matter how it's wrapped up." Really, what must her mother be going through? Years of no progress. Wait, her mother...? "If you can show me progress in your lady training I might change my mind." It's a whimsical request but he's interested in meeting that person. There's not even a name, at least none that he knows of. He'll have to do some research. Besides, getting on the external advisor's good side might get him a few interesting missions. You're coming in handy, Dame-Tsuna.

Tsuna groans. "Why?!" If there's one thing she doesn't like it's that sort of training. Reborn briefly wonders how she can fail it for so long but then he remembers all her previous mishaps. Cue getting stuck with earrings, for one.

He decides to stick to that route. She may have a reason and a wish for something more but what she'll need most is determination and the will to pull through. "I don't teach No Good-students. I have a reputation to lose."

She puffs her cheeks and leans back into the coach, mulling his proposal over. It gives him the chance to shake his head unbeknowst to her. He's actually considering training her. He can't make his change of heart obvious, so of course he'll make it difficult on her for the sake of his image and ego, but still.

 _Why? _

_Because I know I can do more._

He doesn't like people who only talk big. She has to show him the length she will go to get what she wants. It's all about reasons and wishes, determination and willpower. The rest is up to the person.

"Next week."

Reborn blinks. "Mh?"

Her cheeks are red and she doesn't look at him. Oh? "I have a _practical_ test next week." He can see her jaw working, imagines the teeth grinding. The warmth that fills his chest in that moment is indescribable; the joy he feels at her unhappiness is like no other. "I was going to ask Visconti to be my partner but now I've changed my mind."

She looks at him and her eyes are clear and _burning_. "I will show you that I'm better than you think. And then you have to teach me!"

He hums in approval. Now she's finally giving off the right vibes, the spirit to succeed no matter what. But this is dangerous territory. She stands above him in rank yet allows _him_ to outrank and manipulate _her_. Whether she knows it or not, the feeling of power it gives him is dazzling.

"I look forward to your embarrassment."

How far can he take this?

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I really and very sincerely want to thank everybody who's kept on reading and following this despite the longer break. I'm slowly getting back into writing and hope to keep up a much better pace from now on!**

 **Also, for anyone that wants to know: Visconti is the 9th Generation Cloud Guardian. Still wonder what he'll look like young but... well, I still have time to decide on it.**


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